


Sociopath's kiss

by stepchild (afitzgerald)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Humiliation, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24667792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afitzgerald/pseuds/stepchild
Summary: what happens when you kiss a sociopath
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	Sociopath's kiss

Sociopath's Kiss

I knew he was a sociopath, how many times had he said it. Warning all of us. I had it for him, everyone knew it. You could see the pity in their faces when they looked at me, flustered around him. But who could resist, he was angelic, the hair, the high cheekbones the well defined lips. He was a magnet, the dark shirts and black suits, the heavy wool coat. All generated a mystique to draw you in. Just looking at him you would never guess at first glance he was a spider. On initial meeting most would bend over backward for him, giving him whatever he asked for, which was usually help with his cases. Those that didn’t were treated to his caustic whit, usually to the delight of those around. Cruel laughter followed

The first time he kissed me, it was because of work he expected me to do. I usually dropped everything, but couldn’t this time. He waltzed into the lab like always, looked about and said, “Well, where is it?”   
I told him I hadn’t gotten to it yet. He then sat, was facing away, looking in my microscope. He craned that long neck of his to look at me. Seated on my stool, he was still tall enough to look down his nose at me. He stood abruptly, he did that, it was startling how quickly he could move.

“Well we need to do something about that- do I need to motivate you?” 

He moved into my personal space. I stood my ground, it didn’t do to show fear. His eyes narrowed, slowly. He leaned down and very softly brushed his lips over mine, soft as a feather, just rubbing back and then forth. Pulled away. Again fast, so fast it was over. I think it shocked me. I had thought he didn’t do women, or men either. He always said he was only “turned on “ by the work. Every hormone in me lit up. He pulled away, cocked his head as if asking permission. I could barely swallow, then a short nod. Consent. Another swift and light kiss; a moan, from him or me I couldn’t tell. His mouth opened, his eyes open throughout, examining me. His tongue slid in, where it had always meant to be. I could feel heat, pooling. I began to throb, my pulse hammering : my heart, my cunt. I hate that word, but. My god I never felt it clenching like that before. The kiss was like the last in the world, dipping, swirling. His mouth slid along my jaw, to lightly suck my neck. He pulled away abruptly, and a finger continued the line to the cleft between my breasts.  
“Be a good girl and finish it up?”

Mouth agape, I nodded. He reached in his pocket, and pulled out a hanky. He wiped his mouth, thoughtfully. Like after eating. His eyes never left mine. He handed me the hanky, “Souvenir?” I was flushed. I felt on fire. But now I began to truly blush. Like someone truly wicked, his eyes darted lower. “Or you could mop yourself up?” 

“ Yes” the word drawn out of him like a hiss. He pressed the starched cloth into my limp hand. I looked at it, it was monogrammed. I looked back up to his eyes.

“Do it now, I want to see my affect on you”, his voice low. My hand closed over the cloth. I walked to my inner office.   
He called, in normal tone of voice, “Leave the door open”.

I turned my back, hiked my skirt in front, slid my pants off my legs and down, I wiped. 

“Good girl” in my ear. He was behind me, “Is there more? Is it sodden?”. 

His hand encased mine with hand kerchief, and he took it from me. He peered at it, like it was evidence, he waved it in front of his nose, peering at the moisture. 

“Again” ,as he handed it back. I turned my back again, and began to wipe. He grasped me from behind, one arm around my shoulder to my neck, the other lower, taking my hand. Forcefully, he pressed the hanky harder, up inside me, and then pulling out only his fingers. He began to stroke. Like his mouth, his fingers first lightly brushed at my clitoris, soft circles, but when my legs began to sag, his fingers began sliding in and out of the entrance to my vulva. I bit my lip, animal noises coming from me as his fingers thrust. My head tipped back against the coat, that heavy wool coat. I came quietly , with humiliated tears. My mouth open as if to scream. His fingers entered me a final time and took out the hanky. 

“I think I will keep that. “ he said.

He let me go, I felt feverish. His hands on my shoulders turned me around, “ So if I come back in 3 hours?” He left the question hanging. I nodded. His mouth pursed into a distasteful mew. “I hope we won’t have to repeat that.” 

Was it a question? . He walked to a drawer at my bench, pulled out a ziplock bag. With 2 fingers he stuffed in his evidence. He took my pen off the bench, and scribbled on the label. Looked at his watch-   
“I’ll be back and 7:10”. He opened the door, left. 

Don’t kiss a sociopath.


End file.
